Blind
by artypendragon
Summary: In which Uther finally sees the true nature of Merlin and Arthur's relationship and is every bit the protective dad he could have been (in the actual show).


Uther's eyes are finally opened to the truth of things when Arthur's manservant spills wine down Arthur's front at a feast.

To be fair, it's one of those end of the year feasts where even the servants are permitted to let their hair down (ironic as that may be), and Arthur's graciously given his servant the run of his goblet. The boy from Ealdor, _Merlin,_ clearly has never tasted wine like the kind Arthur drinks on a near-daily basis, and so by the time he knocks into Arthur with his wine jug, he can barely stand.

Arthur is charmingly unperturbed as he and his best tunic are treated to a thorough soaking in the liquid.

Uther makes to shout at the boy for embarrassing the prince like this in front of the entire court and all the servants, but Arthur merely laughs, placing a mollifying hand on Uther's arm. Uther settles back down.

He watches, as Arthur does nothing but smile at the sight of Merlin peering closely at Arthur's tunic and mumbling a pretence of an apology, still trying to hold onto the empty utensil with his wine-sodden hands.

"Whatever will we do with you, Merlin," Arthur says, not even getting up from his chair, ruffling Merlin's hair with—and this stuns Uther to see—fondness. Had it been anyone else, Uther is sure, Arthur would have read them the riot act by now.

"Y'r wine 'sfault," Merlin slurs, now crouching, leaning against Arthur's shoulder, in danger of falling asleep then and there. "Prat. Why d'you lemme dr'nk s'much."

Uther's eyes widen at the casualness with which Arthur's manservant addresses him. Arthur surprises him yet again by not objecting at all.

"Who am I to stop you indulging in something you so loved?" Arthur's fingers are running through Merlin's hair without inhibition now. Uther sees that he is drunk as well, though not as much as his servant. In a fit of sudden discomfort, Uther almost feels like he and the court are intruding upon the two of them in a moment of privacy, despite their being very much in public.

"'m not g'na wake you up tomorrow."

"Very well," Arthur says, finally taking matters into his own hands, grabbing Merlin's wine jug and placing it well out of his reach. Merlin has now all but collapsed into Arthur's lap. Uther wants to reprimand them soundly. Not a sound escapes his mouth.

This cannot be real. All of them have been particularly unreserved with their food and drink tonight, what with it being the last day of the year. Perhaps Uther is inebriated himself, and whatever he is seeing is most likely a mischievous sorcerer wasting his opportunity planting visions in his head.

"Don't you dare fall asleep here, Merlin."

Merlin hums. Uther is certain, now, that he is dreaming.

Arthur gets up, effortlessly handling his boneless servant, and bows slightly in his father's direction before… before _picking_ Merlin up and exiting the great hall, not looking back.

Uther realises with a jerk, later, that Arthur had all but carried Merlin out like a bride.

When he wakes up the next morning, Arthur is back to barking orders at his pitiably hung-over manservant and Uther convinces himself that Arthur wasn't murmuring honeyed words into Merlin's ears the night before.

* * *

Arthur returns from a quest empty-handed for once in his life, and the all-too-public dressing-down he gets from Uther is overblown, completely unsuited to Arthur's crime, if one could call it that, of failing his father.

Arthur says nothing as Uther's raging words flow over him, kneeling, keeping his head bowed, wordlessly shouldering all the blame.

That is why Uther is strolling down all the corridors of the castle in search of his son, aware that an apology is warranted. For all the pressure he places on his son to be the paragon of nobility and grace, he understands that Arthur is human, just a boy needing a father's approval sometimes—and he should probably tell Arthur that: that Arthur's worth to Uther cannot be and is not measured by the treasures he hauls back to Camelot or the gold coins he saves them in tourneys—not someone to be utterly humiliated for having tried.

After a third round of the entire castle and the same twenty or so servants jumping aside in the hallways for him, Uther is ready to give up in frustration and summon Arthur to him instead, when he hears voices emanating from a sheltered alcove near Arthur's chambers.

"…you still crying?"

"Shut up. I'm not. Wasn't."

Uther hears sniffling, disproving Arthur. His fingers curl into fists, the ugly creep of chagrin deadening the beat of his heart.

"Yes, you are, sire."

"You pick entirely the wrong times to address me properly."

"You pick entirely the wrong times to feel like shit about yourself."

Arthur huffs in laughter for a bit.

"I'm not crying."

"Yes, because it would be pathetic to cry about something that wasn't even your fault. Uther didn't even wait for you to finish telling him about the horrific beasts that charged at the knights and forced you to retreat to save their lives. Pathetic, indeed."

" _You're_ pathetic."

"Gwaine and I'll teach you to make good comebacks soon, sire, don't worry," Merlin says, placating him like he would a child, and Arthur actually laughs.

A sigh of relief.

"At least you're laughing again."

"Only because of you."

"Oh, hush, Arthur, you flatter me so! I might just have to swoon in reward."

"St _op_ , you clot," Arthur laughs, "we were having such a good moment just now, too!"

Uther has _never_ heard Arthur's voice so dopey with endearment.

"Well, you're still in my arms, you clot _pole_ , so we can very well get back to the good moment whenever you like."

"I'd like that very much, cabbage-head," Arthur says.

"Gwaine and I apparently have to teach you to stop stealing my words and come up with your own insults too."

"Whatever would my father say if he were here to hear you talking to me like this?"

"Oh, fuck him, he isn't worth a second of my attention," and Uther would in another universe barge in and demand Merlin's execution on the spot, but in this one he is seemingly the sole cause of Arthur's comfort and joy, and Uther, despite all appearances to the contrary, loves his son.

"Treason, Merlin," Arthur says lightly.

"My very existence here is treason and you know that. What's a couple of words slagging your father off going to do? Can't kill me twice, yeah?"

Arthur sighs.

"I promise you, things will be different when it's me on the throne, I promise you, I'm sorry—"

"Oh, shut up and kiss me already, future High King of Albion, Arthur Pendragon."

"All right, my fretful future Court Sor—"

Uther knows all too well the value of _plausible deniability_ , so he vacates the hallway without a second thought.

* * *

Merlin will not lower his gaze in Uther's presence. Uther might almost admire him for that insolence.

He has summoned Merlin to the throne room, alone. That morning, Uther had stepped into Arthur's chambers—something about grain tax revisions—only to see Arthur's bare legs slung over his servant's shoulders in bed as the servant in question fucked Arthur into oblivion, and Uther has to draw the line _some_ where; someone had got to knock some sense into these reckless fools.

"I order you to cease despoiling my son, on pain of execution," Uther says, and Merlin forgets whatever insincere apology he had been about to offer in favour of choking.

"You have the options of either leaving Camelot to return to wherever you came from, or facing certain death, here and now, for the crime of being a sorcerer."

All the colour drains from Merlin's face.

"I'm not—"

"I have overheard the two of you discuss your grand plans for the future, boy," Uther says with convincing cruelty. "It is only Arthur's misplaced affection for you that stills my hand upon my sword at the moment."

Merlin, who should have been hanging his head or grovelling for forgiveness, looks Uther full in the eye. "Just you _try_ and make me leave Arthur."

The defiance in Merlin is wholly gratifying to see, but Uther hides it.

"Why?" Uther asks, leaning back on his throne. "What do you want from him? Have you bewitched him to love you? Do you plan to use him for your own purposes? Whom do you serve?"

He could have interrogated Merlin much better than this, using questions framed much more cuttingly, but the examination had no real purpose other than for Uther to see Merlin's outrage rise to the surface.

"I love Arthur," Merlin breathes, trembling, obviously restraining whatever incensed magic is struggling to burst forth from him. "I love him more than anyone else ever will. And if he loves me, he does so of his own volition."

Uther smiles, shedding his cruel demeanour. Merlin blinks in shock.

"Very well, then. You're dismissed. Go back to your regular duties, and for heaven's sake, start locking doors behind you."

"…what."

"You are prohibited from ever mentioning this conversation to him. Go off, now."

Merlin slowly backs out of the room, staring at Uther like he's demented; if Uther's letting a magic user remain alive and in close proximity to his son and heir, he probably is.

The flip side is that Arthur these days is now a different, joyously contented man who reminds Uther much too much of his late wife, though for the love of him Uther cannot see the downside to that.

* * *

 **Note:** This was yet another fill for a prompt at KinksOfCamelot. I hope you liked this, please let me know what you thought!


End file.
